Sorry for the wait! You know how it is, Holidays and all... Happy New Year, by the way.

Thanks again for the reviews and favorites.

"You're awesome."

Denial, Suppression and The Intermittent Lack There-of.

As it turned out, constantly being around Cas was actually exactly as difficult as Dean had anticipated.

There was a part of him, the part that had yelled NO! when Sam suggested Cas stick around, that felt vindicated by Dean's current distress. Despite enjoying the Angel's presence immensely, Dean was baffled by the realization that he was also very much not enjoying it. Everything was easier when his doses of Love Potion Number Cas were few and far between - he'd take one hit to his system and be reeling for days, but he'd have recovery time between visits. Now Cas was here, constantly, and Dean was exhausting all of his mental and emotional fortitude keeping his hands and eyes off him.

And on top of it all, Dean would go to bed at night, exhausted from self-restraint, and when he fell sleep he would no longer be able to actively control where his mind went. As a result, he found that all he dreamt about were blue eyes and porcelain skin and angelic passion so fierce that Castiel would face certain death unwavering, undaunted like some sort of hero, and all for Dean - or rather, for Dean's very important cause.

He dreamt, in that confusing disjointed way, of black wings that he couldn't quite visualize but were still so very present; of tightly held shoulders and shy smiles and pale hands that could skim so soft and somehow still grip so tight...

And then Dean would wake up with the handprint on his shoulder tingling.

And it would all be made a thousand times more awkward by waking up from these images with the real thing sitting not six feet away, watching TV with a clinical interest that did not even remotely allude to entertainment.

Being that Castiel had been asked to stay and accepted that invitation, he took total advantage of the chance to escape Heaven and do what a human would consider nothing. Of course, Cas never really did nothing. But he rarely left the motel, or the car, or Sam and Dean's side. And it had been a few days now that Dean had experienced a fitful night's rest laden with stirring, mosaic sequences of the angel which left him in a cold sweat, and then had awoken with Castiel in the same place on the couch that he'd been when Dean managed to fall asleep the night before. The angel would sit, still as stone, with the TV lighting the planes of his face as he observed carefully. Dean noted that Cas was more like studying the phenomenon as a whole, than watching really.

And he would greet Dean the same every morning - a gravelly, even, "Good morning Dean," offered without so much as turning his head to see that Dean was, in fact, awake. It sent a jolt through Dean's heart that somehow Castiel just knew he'd woken. The jolt may have been terror.

What else did Castiel just simply know...? Could he tell that Dean's blood would race every time he came a little too close? When Dean's heart thumped, and Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean's chest curiously, could he tell it was only happening because of the Angel himself? Did Castiel, God forbid, know what Dean had been dreaming? Had Dean let slip Castiel's name in his sleep? He hoped not. He really, really, hoped not. That would just make it even worse and this was hard enough.

Wanting to openly stare at Cas, smile at him and sit close to him and compliment him for no friggin' reason but having to keep a lid on it...

It was making Dean absolutely nuts.

Way to be a total girl, Winchester. Why don't you write him some poetry too...

Oh shut up, it's too early for this.

But Dean could not shut up that voice in his head. The more Cas was around, the louder it got up in his melon -

Say something to him.

Don't you say anything.

Kiss him.

Don't you touch him!

His confusion was so riotous that sometimes he worried other people could hear it from outside his skull. And that was terrifying, because neither Sam nor Cas could ever know about this - about how on the down-low Dean really was. It was too much to have to explain after a lifetime of truly genuine girl-chasing, and he could barely work through it himself.

And to top it all off, Dean's emotions weren't the only thing that were confused. Little Dean was giving him a hard time, literally, more often than not.

Dean's sexual frustration was starting to become unmanageable. Something had to give. His level of blueballs was worthy of medical study. He found himself constantly buzzing with this low current of arousal in Cas' presence. But he couldn't get any relief. He could not jack-off in the shower knowing that Cas was an oh so sensitive superbeing who happened to be sitting in the next room and could probably hear him, or might sense that Dean was doing something and thinking of him and then come and investigate and then Dean would have to kill himself.

That would be mortifying. I mean, what if he mojo'ed his way right into the shower with you? That'd be... just... terrible.

And then he'd be wet. And watching you. And what if he tilted his head in that way... and what if he was curious, so you just let him -

No! Stop it! Jesus, man! What is your problem? He sitting right there! Pull it together Dean. For the love of God, you're not fifteen, just keep it together.

And just...don't stand up for a minute...

It seemed like Castiel was entirely oblivious of what he did to Dean. And in some ways Dean was thankful. But in others, it just made everything worse.

For example, how was Dean supposed to concentrate on the new case with Castiel in just his slacks and white dress shirt, a few top buttons undone? Dean could see the little hollow at the base of Castiel's neck, between his clavicle, and Dean could just imagine dipping his tongue -

Stop!

Oh, come on! What am I supposed to do?

Right. Cause the healthy heterosexual thing to do when you see a sliver of another guys neck is to imagine going at him like a deer with a salt-lick.

It's not my fault! Look at him!

And Dean did. Castiel's suit jacket and trench coat had been cast aside, his tie pulled even looser - all of it done in appreciation of the human concept of casualness. He was even sipping coffee he technically didn't need, out of a little white ceramic mug Dean could only assume the angel didn't remember. But Dean remembered. And he got an odd sort of fascination from watching Cas' lips touch the smooth surface his own had touched so many times before. It was rendering the Hunter entirely without focus.

"Dean?" Sam asked roughly, finally breaking through Dean's glossy-eyed reverie.

He snapped his head towards his brother, "What?"

Sam examined him closely, huffing, and asked, "Did you get any of that?"

"Yeah..." he lied obviously. And when Sam fixed him with a look he admitted, "Alright, fine. Say again."

"Are you gonna listen this time?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean turned a little away from Castiel, deciding instead to focus on the food in front of him, hoping to supplant one distraction for another less consuming one. "Ok so what's the case?" Dean asked barely paying attention. His focus was on the sandwich he was practically swallowing whole.

Sam squinted down at the multiple newspaper clips he'd been collecting, "Not sure. I think we're looking at something that affects people psychologically. Not a cut-and-dry case of a monster wanting to eat people, but something with a bigger motive. Trickier, at least. Like a wraith, or something like what we saw with the truth goddess, Veritas."

"Great..." Dean muttered sarcastically. That Veritas thing wasn't a great time for either of them. "Body count?"

"Only one so far, but a whole lot of weird happening. Like with the wishing well-"

"Ugh God, I hated that case."

"Dean that was bush league compared to what else we've been through."

"Yeah well, you didn't spend half a day bent over a toilet."

Sam laughed at Dean's expense. "True. Anyway, the majority of this town seems to be having a mid-life crisis all at the same time. Quitting their jobs, spending their life savings, breaking their marriages, pulling crazy stunts that land them in the hospital. The place went from being entirely obscure to making the papers every day. They've gone from being normal, tax-paying, everyday Americans to acting like a bunch of uninhibited daredevil freaks, damn the consequences."

"So any idea what the cause could be?"

"Not yet. I don't think we'll be able to get a handle on that until we can pin down an origin or motive."

"Maybe it's a demon or a witch and they want these peoples' souls so they're having them indulge."

"I doubt it's a demon," Cas offered, not bothering to look up from what he was reading.

"You sure?" Dean asked skeptically.

Cas looked up, staring off into the distance seeming to focus on something he only saw in his head. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. After a long, quiet moment Cas looked at Dean, "I'm sure." He looked back down at his reading material.

"Good enough for me," Sam offered.

"Alright," Dean said, sounding resolved. "Tomorrow we'll start grilling the locals."

Castiel set his book down looking at Dean with a furrowed brow. "I can only assume your use of grilled is an idiom which means questioning?"

"I don't know, I've heard the other-other white meat cooks up pretty good barbecue style," Dean joked cynically.

Castiel squinted at him, his eyes hard.

"I'm joking..."

Castiel shook his head a little before returning his focus to his book.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and the angel.

They had been in this town one day and already they knew everyone.

Sam and Dean had donned their monkey suits and spoken to the police about the most recent string of violent acts, one of which included a teenager named Bryce Ryerson, who always seemed so quiet and reserved, maybe even a little too much so, who had snapped and taken out both his father and a schoolmate with a metal bat.

Thinking this boy might be the smoking gun that gave them their best lead, Sam and Dean had split up to work two different angles.

Dean had the surveillance footage from the murder at Ryerson senior's place of work, and was sitting at the little table in their motel room going through it frame by frame, trying to find anything from a glimpse of a spirit to a flare of inhuman eyes. But he'd been going over it for hours and so far he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Aside from, you know, the skinny teenager taking a bat to his father's head.

There was something he was missing, he knew it. He could feel it. But his eyes were swimming at this point.

He considered the facts: This weak, scared, push-over of a kid goes Mark McGwire on his own dad, then walks calmly to school in his blood-covered khakis and kills some other kid just the same. Then he drops the bat right there, and meanders cool as a cucumber to his homeroom. When a teacher called it in, the kid went willingly with the cops. They said he was almost too relaxed, probably high.

But what kind of high made you mellow and homicidal simultaneously?

Certainly nothing the doctors could find, Sam had already checked on that.

Dean shook his head. This case was weird. Granted, every case was weird. But they'd been here all day and still didn't have a clue what they were dealing with. He needed to get some distance from it, think objectively. Maybe he should think about something else for a little while...

Castiel was watching a program whose plot did not overly entice him. It was a show about doctors, who all seemed to possess a measurable amount of physical attractiveness and seemed very quick to emote. He had been ready to switch to something else, but Dean had given the screen a chuckle when he passed by on his way to the bathroom earlier. His eyes glinted with amusement and, Castiel thought, recognition. It was something he knew. This made Castiel curious of course and he'd been watching the program, a marathon Dean called it, ever since.

He couldn't claim to be giving it his entire attention though. Whenever he felt he could do it without Dean noticing, Castiel would watch Dean instead - he was studying the laptop screen with the utmost concentration, his brow furrowing and shoulders tensing as the hours drew on. He let out a huff, and Castiel turned his eyes back to the TV before Dean could notice he was watching.

He saw pretty, waifish thing with her dirty blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail walk quietly up behind a man, handsome in his own right Castiel supposed, who looked absolutely exhausted. The man was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and some paperwork in his hands. He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

Castiel looked across the room at Dean, leaning forward, his elbows against the table as he scrutinized the computer. He ran a hand over his tired eyes and then through his hair.

Castiel's eyes went curiously back to the television. The man tossed the papers onto the table and leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh. The woman leaned from behind him, looping her arms around his neck. The man smiled at the contact.

Castiel's head tilted. He glanced over at Dean, seeing him push the computer away slightly before leaning back against the chair, with a sigh.

Something in Castiel's stomach twisted with nerves. On the Tv the woman rubbed her hands slowly up and down the man's chest, kneading up at his shoulders. The man closed his eyes and made a contented sound.

Castiel swallowed hard. He looked at Dean rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck, as if trying to get that same effect.

On the television the man said quietly, "You always know how to make me feel better."

Castiel was standing before he could talk himself out of it, walking over to the table with knots in his gut that nearly made him turn back. Surely he could comfort his charge without it being inappropriate in the eye's of Heaven...

Dean looked up as Castiel came near and the angel could feel his eyes on him, but neither said anything as the he moved silently behind the hunter.

Dean was frozen, glancing slightly over his shoulder at Castiel. Something about the moment made it impossible for him to speak - he didn't dare ask him what he was doing. Not even as he felt the angel's hands come to rest against the tops of his shoulders. He tensed even further, his breath barely coming, his heart pounding in his chest.

Castiel slid his hands down from Dean's shoulders to his chest, where he could feel the minuscule stretching and contracting of his body at every breath, and the constant thump of his heart. Dean was warm through the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt and though the texture was pleasant, Castiel couldn't help the dark thought that he wished he knew the feel of Dean's chest against his hands without it. He blushed at the thought.

Castiel remembered the woman from the tv, how she'd gone about this, and he rubbed his hands across Dean's chest, not just exploring the expanse and its contours (though secretly he was), but with purpose. He added pressure, coming up to Dean's shoulders and kneading out the tension like he'd seen her do.

It took longer for Dean to react than it had for the man in the show, but eventually Castiel could feel Dean relax into his touch - his muscles went a little less rigid, and he let out a soft sigh. Castiel liked the feel of Dean beneath his hands, and of doing this hands-on kind of healing, bringing him this physical peace without it being life or death. He liked when Dean leaned into his touch, urging him to rub harder. And Castiel could barely contain the joy he felt when Dean's head lolled back and he could see that the man's eyes were closed, his lips parted ever so slightly. He never wanted to stop.

Dean leaned his head back, breathing deep and relaxed for the first time in... years, it seemed. It felt so good to have someone's hands on him.

This isn't just someone. It's Cas...

Hey, don't ruin this.

This touch was refreshing really. His body had been touched countless times. Sometimes even doted upon by his more giving bedfellows. But he was rarely granted such lavish attention. The touch he experienced was usually aimed at turning him on. The endgame being that Dean would pleasure said bedfellow in return. But this... Cas wasn't doing this because he was a crafty young woman who knew all the tricks and wanted to get Dean revved up. Dean could feel in the way he touched, that Cas was doing this for him. It was affectionate, more than anything. And he relaxed into it despite himself.

He leaned forward slowly, crossing his arms on the table's edge and laying his head upon his forearms. As he'd hoped, Cas followed along and took advantage of the access to more of Dean's back. And Dean just rested and let Cas take care of him.

When Dean leaned forward, something inside Castiel twisted in a way that was both awful and lovely. He shouldn't be looking upon Dean with such objectification, taking detailed, precise notice of the valley of his spine, the angles of his shoulder blades and the smooth curve of his back down to the top of his jeans. He shouldn't rake his eyes over the line of naked skin now visible between the hem of Dean's t-shit and the top of his pants. He shouldn't, but he did.

All of his recent tricks, just to get near Dean, paled in comparison to the intensity of this moment for Castiel. He'd never touched someone so much, so freely; he'd never taken such liberties and now he was entranced by it.

And then ignoring every warning in his mind, he made the fatal mistake that let it go too far -

Castiel's hands worked their way slowly down Dean's back, feeling every tightened sinew, every rib and vertebrae. And when he reached that forbidden, uncovered skin he paused momentarily, before rubbing his thumbs lightly over it, into the valley of Dean's spine.

Dean didn't pull away, he breathed deep, stretching his back as if trying to offer more.

Dean felt Castiel's fingers touch his bare skin, and in his utterly defenseless state of relaxation and desire, he arched into the touch. He felt slim, trembling fingers slide so slowly beneath his t-shirt and up his back. Dean instinctively leaned back into the touch until he sat back up. With a sigh he leaned back, and Castiel's hands slipped around to his sides so as not be trapped between Dean and the chair-back he rested against heavily. The angel's fingers skimmed the skin over Dean's ribs with light, tentative touches.

Castiel's hands slid around to Dean's front and up Dean's heated, firm skin, feeling pebbled nubs against his palms. Dean arched subtly into his palms and Castiel slid his hands over the hardened nipples, happy to see Dean's head fall back past the back of the chair and onto Cas' torso. He couldn't believe the alien rush he felt from seeing Dean like this, from having his hands on his bare skin.

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't had a heart attack yet. Or maybe that what this feeling was... He was so comfortable with Cas in this moment, despite the fact that they essentially never touched, and now the guy was swiping his thumbs curiously over his nipples. Dean could feel Cas' gaze on his face.

This is going too far, Dean. He's an angel. Stop it now.

I've got it under control. It's innocent...

You don't even believe that.

Shut up. I'm handling it.

Castiel had slid his hands back up to the tops of Dean's shoulders, then slid them center, where he cradled the base of Dean's neck in his hands, skin to skin, rubbing his thumbs together up the nape and spine until they brushed into his hair. His fingertips touched as his hands circled around Dean's neck.

If Castiel had added pressure, he'd have been choking the man.

He's got his hands around your neck, Winchester! Friend or not, you're a goddamn Hunter and he's got you by the throat! Put up some defenses for christ's sake!

But...

You don't know what he'll do! You can't trust anyone, Dean. You know that.

Dean opened his eyes for the first time since this all started, to see Castiel hovering above him looking dangerously intent, his eyes dark.

But for some reason that Dean couldn't bear to understand at the moment, he wasn't afraid.

The angel was looking at his as if he was counting every freckle, and was increasingly vexed and fascinated by every one. Castiel focused into those green irises, almost eclipsed by dark, and found himself trapped. The two gazed, and the rest of the world was forgotten.

Fight him Dean!

Oh relax.

Push him away!

Dean, just relax... Just a little. It's Cas, man... He won't hurt you. Relax...

Yeah... Yeah, maybe. Maybe just a little...

Dean closed his eyes, despite his instincts, leaning back into Cas a little more. The weight of Cas' hands around his throat was warm and heavy and he breathed out a sigh. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he felt Castiel shift until the warmth of his body was beside him, instead of behind, and one of his thumbs was caressing over Dean's Adam's apple. He felt a warm breath on his lips and he nearly gasped. He leaned up ever so slightly toward that breath, feeling the warmth of Castiel coming close and then -

and then he heard the distinct rumble of a '67 Chevy Impala outside in the parking lot.

And he'd never hated that car so much in his entire life.

This chapter was going to be entirely different, but I made some drastic last minute changes. I'm totally winging it but like it better now.

I just hope it worked and ya liked it!

We're going somewhere, I promise. More coming soon.